The worshippers were dressed in a variety of degrees of neatness or of its opposite. Some of them wore very costly apparel, and others were very neatly clad. All seemed full of zeal and devotion. All bowed down on their knees in silent, solemn attitudes. All their faces seemed disfigured with a painful and awe-stricken solemnity. All made certain signs and motions, while they said nothing audible, and the impression of a strange observer would be that the image, to which every eye was turned with long and supplicating gaze and imploring look, had no ears to hear, but was deeply versed in the science of physiognomy, and also acquainted with the deaf and dumb alphabet.

On inquiry, we were informed that this kind of worship prevailed throughout Spanish America and various other countries, and that it is called by the dignified name of Christianity, and that it is very ancient.

From all which circumstances I infer that it must have been instituted soon after the Church of Jesus Christ became extinct in the Roman world, and, by some unaccountable blunder, borrowed its name from those institutions, which it does not even resemble in the least in any one feature save the name.

Sunday, November 16th. Dear friends:—During the past week we have rented a house, purchased furniture and commenced housekeeping. We devote almost our entire time to the Spanish language.

Our house is in the rear of a block of buildings which fronts a large and beautiful street, called Victoria street. It opens into a large yard, surrounded with high walls and with other buildings, and filled with beautiful trees, such as orange, fig, peach, pear, etc., together with pinks and a variety of other flowers and shrubs. Its walks and pavements are neatly swept, and the houses around it occupied with widows, orphans, etc., of a good class of Spanish or Chilanoes, and their kind and sociable young people and little children.

We divide our time between reading and studying our Spanish lessons, and chatting, visiting, reading Spanish, hearing them read, and playing with the little ones, etc., all of which pleases them much, and causes us to advance in the language with a rapidity which is almost astonishing to ourselves and to them. Truly Providence has ordered our footsteps and cast our lot in pleasant circumstances, when we were strangers in a strange land, and among a people of a strange tongue. Truly He has opened our way to learn that tongue, and we can learn it if we are diligent.

Rents are high here, provisions and fuel dear. Strawberries, oranges, lemons, etc., are in market, as well as green peas, and other vegetables, and melons. It is, in fact, a state of advanced spring or early summer. The peaches, pears and figs are perhaps one-third their size on the trees, while the flowers are in full bloom.

NOVEMBER IN CHILI

'Tis the spring of the year, all the fountains are full,
All nature is pregnant with life and with love;
A chorus of voices ascend from each pool,
A myriad of songsters enliven the grove.
To her nest in the Andes, the condor retires,
The winds from magellan no longer prevail,
And Sol, with the north breeze returning, inspires
New life on the zephyr, and love on the gale.
The forest is clad in its robes of fresh green—
Where the dove sings an anthem, his mate to decoy.
The orchard is dressed as a holiday queen,
And the rosebud is bursting with fullness of joy.
The orange, the olive, the fig and the vine
Are clothed as in Eden, with innocent bloom;
The earth is an altar of incense divine,
Exhales a sweet odor of richest perfume.
The young of the flock bound exulting away
While their dams nip the blade, 'mid the dewdrops of morn,
And groups of young children are sportive and gay;
Yet my heart, 'mid this gladness, is sad and forlorn.
I sigh for the storms of November to come,
The frost, and the snow-drifted plain I would see;
The bleak, wintry blasts of my own mountain home,
And the storm-beaten glaziere are dearer to me.
The chime of the sleigh-bell again I would hear,
The low moaning tempest in harmony roll—
It would speak of my country and kindred so dear;
Oh! this would be music indeed to my soul.

With sentiments of the most endearing affection,
I remain yours, etc.,
P. P. PRATT